


le répit

by mountain_ash



Series: Things I Write on Tumblr dot com [38]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Choosing to ignore season 6, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Ficlet, Future Fic, Happy Derek Hale, Healing, Stiles Has Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 09:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15116408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_ash/pseuds/mountain_ash
Summary: They put him on medical leave after that. Told him to take a vacation and if he wanted to come back after, they would provide him with a therapist that understood his particular situation. Stiles decided to go to France. Isaac and Mr. Argent had gone to France and they’d come back okay. He chose a little to town called Annecy, with pretty waterways, close packed rows of stone buildings, and beautiful views.  It looked like what he imagined relaxing would look like.





	le répit

**Author's Note:**

> Originally on [tumblr](http://a-mountain-ash.tumblr.com/post/175415371915/mad-madam-m-ryvetted4-sterek-au-stiles-finds) and based on [this](http://a-mountain-ash.tumblr.com/post/175342972850/mad-madam-m-ryvetted4-sterek-au-stiles-finds) post on tumblr!

He'd been coming apart at the seams for the last year and the FBI had finally found out. It was supposed to be a typical mission. A bank had exploded in mysterious circumstances, greenlighting his unit's involvement. Agent McCall had gotten them together, a special FBI unit specializing in the supernatural. They were investigating the crime scene, taking photos of the rubble, debris, and dead bodies, and there she was. A girl with long red hair streaming around her head in a fiery halo, framing the deathly pale of her face, as though she were being swallowed into Hell. Stiles' chest bloomed with crushing pain and the world around him began swirling.

 _No. No._ The words reverberated inside his mind as the red hair and pale face loomed closer and closer. _Lydia's alive. Lydia's alive. She's alive._

He had repeated the words over and over,  but his brain had refused to believe them. His breaths continued to come short and fast until his skull felt light as air and the ground was no longer beneath his feet. Darkness crept deeper into the edges of his vision until finally her vibrant halo disappeared into black. He'd woken in a local emergency department to the sounds of gurneys wheeling and oxygen flowing.

They put him on medical leave after that. Told him to take a vacation and if he wanted to come back after, they would provide him with a therapist that understood his particular situation. Stiles decided to go to France. Isaac and Mr. Argent had gone to France and they’d come back okay. He chose a little to town called Annecy, with pretty waterways, close packed rows of stone buildings, and beautiful views.  It looked like what he imagined relaxing would look like.

It was as touristy as he’d expected, but also a little bit sleepy. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t turn his mind off. With the basic French he knew from his FBI training, he began wandering through the neighborhoods asking if anyone needed help with errands or housework. He lied and said he was a foreigner just trying to make money for rent. He just needed his mind to quiet down. Most people said no, not trusting the young American man with a rough beard, but some said yes and welcomed him in to ease their burdens for a low fee.

One day he ended up in a quieter part on the edge of town and most of the residents said, “no, they already had help.” Stiles kept trying. He had nothing else to do. 

He knocked at a green door framed in white brick and waited. The lights were on inside, so someone was home. Maybe they didn’t want solicitors. He began turning away when he heard steps behind the door.

Stiles froze as he watched the beard and green eyes appear tentatively from behind the door. Pale grey speckled the beard now and deeper lines ran around the corners of the eyes. They were signs of age, but they were soft at the edges, as though they’d been worn down natural and slow. He wore a simple purple Henley that hugged his shoulders, just as he always had. Despite his aging, he looked younger than Stiles had ever seen him, full and healthy and comfortable.

Stiles knew he looked the opposite. His beard was dark brown with no grey in sight, but it was unkempt and haggard. His skin was pale and dull and the circles beneath his eyes were purple from sleepless nights in his room filled with the noise of crickets and wind. His jacket was dirty and his shirt was crumpled and he was unsurprised the townspeople didn’t want to hire him.

“Stiles. You’re here.”

Derek didn’t sound surprised, exactly. Obviously he wasn’t. He could probably smell Stiles from down the block. He sounded shy and uncertain, as though he was unprepared to share his space. And of course he didn’t want to share. He’d been hiding in France for who knew how long being healthy and happy. At least Stiles had chosen right. France seemed to do them all good.

“Stiles?”

He bolted. It took him all of one second to look into Derek’s concerned face one more time for Stiles to realize he couldn’t be there. His legs carried him fast and hard back down Derek’s front walk and past the small cottage fronts. The werewolf could have stopped him but he didn’t. Stiles didn’t stop for two miles, until he’d run himself half home and finally stopped to breathe and walk the rest of his way.

Pressure built at the back of his tongue as his slow legs carried him, stinging and burning its way up behind his eyes and down into his stomach. He couldn't formulate a thought but he also couldn't stop thinking. Derek was _fine_. Derek was healthy, rested, settled. Derek had left them, _him_ , and Derek was better. Finally back at the tiny room he was renting, Stiles grabbed up his pillow and screamed into it until the burning pressure was gone and his throat was raw. He fell asleep but didn't feel better.

A knock at his door woke him and the older woman he was renting from handed him a note. A young man had left it for him, was all she said.

_Come for breakfast tomorrow. 8am. - Derek_

Stiles washed one of his rumpled shirts in the sink and hung it to dry, before walking to the closest barber shop. He went to sleep with his face smooth against his pillow and clean hair no longer clinging to his forehead.

Everything in him screamed to stay away. Derek was better, he wasn't. They couldn't mix. And Derek had stayed away, left Stiles to crack and crumble. Stiles didn't want him. But he did.

Stiles knocked on the green door and Derek answered just as slow as before. They stared just as before. Stiles still wanted to scream, but Derek lived on a sleepy village street and the neighbors would notice. He held it in and watched Derek's nostrils flare and his face fall as he smelled the potent anguished fury permeate from him. They stepped inside, the door closed, and Stiles burst.

"You left me! You left me there and I couldn't fix anything. I needed you and you were here, helping people with yard work and making breakfast and-and…" Stiles' voice broke as a sob overtook him. He wasn't angry at Derek, he was angry for himself, for them. Angry at what life had made for them. Angry that he was so low that he was angry Derek wasn't.

"I just want to stop having to fight all the time. I don't want what I turned my life into."

Derek stood silent in front of him waiting for his breathing to even out again. When Stiles had calmed, he spoke, a soft smile on his lips.

"Come have breakfast, Stiles. I'm making omelets."

The table sat two and Stiles thought that maybe Derek never wanted to be alone either.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated and come visit me on [tumblr](http://a-mountain-ash.tumblr.com/)!


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